


Wires Crossed

by orphan_account



Category: Last Podcast on The Left (Podcast) RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Light daddy kink, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 03:16:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14728931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ben can’t tell if the image of Marcus and Henry making out at the pub is a memory or a dream, but the boys seem bent to send him down a path they cannot return from.





	Wires Crossed

Ben is foggy, trapped somewhere behind layers and layers of lingering substances. He can’t remember everything he took last night. They drank, he knows Henry slipped him a few gummy bears packed with too-potent THC before they went on stage, and maybe there something else, something to explain for the edge in his heart he felt upon waking up, like the muscle was desperate to break free from his chest and end it once and for all. 

It’s twelve-noon on a Wednesday, but it may as well be eight on a Monday for how late they stayed up. They had a show out in Bushwick, and he can’t remember much after they walked off stage. A pub, yeah, that much he knows for sure, but between the long stretches of black, he can recall only a single faded memory… or a maybe it was a dream… Marcus’ piercing blue eyes over someone’s shoulder, catching his where he slumped on a barstool and nursed what was probably an eleventh or twelvth beer. Marcus’ eyes were bright even through the dimly light atmosphere, and they held onto Ben’s in a challenging way he wasn’t entirely unaccustomed to. But what _had_ been new was the sight of Henry’s shorter frame, pressing Marcus back against the wall of the bar, his mouth working something into the crook of Marcus’ neck. 

Ben shakes his head in an attempt to shake the image, but it only sort of works. He spares at glance in Marcus’ direction, but he’s wearing a hoodie today, and the span of pale thin neck is concealed. 

“ _Ooooh Dad-dy…_ ” Henry riffs in a voice Ben has heard a hundred times before. He leans across the setup, shoving the script Marcus handed them aside as his hand finds Ben’s thigh beneath the table. Ben plays along, of course. He’s being paid to yes-and off this lunatic after all. 

“That’s it, little boy,” he grumbles, in a voice hardly used today. “You know how Daddy likes it…” 

Henry and Marcus laugh, but it sounds forced, or maybe Ben is just too hungover to reason with his anxiety right now. His head aches with dehydration and insecurity. He swallows another hopeful mouthful of coffee, but it isn't doing the trick, and he knows it won’t unless he tips a little rum in there. They do keep a few bottles in the studio, but they're in the cabinet behind Marcus and while he wouldn’t stop Ben, he’s not sure he can tolerate those eyes in their judgemental shade of blue right now. Henry is saying something else but Ben doesn’t catch it. He’s too busy looking back at Marcus, who never seems to look away from him. His eyes appear the same as they did the night before in his memory… or maybe it was a dream, Ben tries to tell himself, but whatever is going on, it’s clear that Marcus is waiting for his reaction. _God, had he and Henry really been making out?_

Ben buries his face in his hands and presses on his eyes until he sees sparks. He needs to stop indulging this particular fantasy. It only seems to make his migraine worse. 

“ _Daddyyyy… don’t ignore me--- I’m desperate for attention!--- I’m a horny little boy---”_

Suddenly Henry is crawling in Ben’s lap, shoving his office chair back to make space for both of their bodies at the table. The chair gives an audible creak beneath their combined weight, and Ben brings his hands up to catch Henry at the waist when he nearly slips off the side of the groaning furniture. Henry scoots more securely into his lap in a simple motion that awakens his cock and Ben finds that he has to close his eyes again. In an attempt to kill his erection, he tries to recall any of the horrid images that Marcus has shown him over the years, but the wires get crossed and instead he sees Marcus and Henry grinding into each other against the wall of a dingy Brooklyn pub once again, but this time they’re fully nude and covered in blood. 

“Hang on, hold up,” Ben says in a rush of breath. He can feel both of them: Henry falling still in his lap, and the air moving as Marcus leans across the table towards them. He snaps his eyes open to look back down at the outline. “I gotta admit I can’t remember what we’re talking about.” 

Henry laughs and resumes his restless rolling against Ben’s crotch, seated directly over his rapidly growing cock. He must feel it, and the exact moment panic groggily sets in, Henry leans towards Marcus, a single arm hooked around Ben’s neck, nearly pulling them both off of the chair. Ben has to grab the edge of the table to balance against Henry’s weight. Henry grabs a fistful of Marcus’ sweatshirt to pull him closer, and Ben can see the red marks on his neck beneath the fabric. Henry attempts to whisper something in Marcus’ ear, but Ben catches it in their close proximity. 

“Feels _big_.” 

“Wait, wait,” Ben says. He’s trying to catch up, trying to dislodge Henry, but both are hopeless pursuits, with Henry latched onto him securely-- surprisingly strong-- and Marcus watching them with a curious expression, his hands folded beneath his chin like some sort of satisfied scientist whose experiment is finally producing results. 

“Daddy, Daddy,” Henry begins again, giggling eagerly, sliding back into Ben’s lap, kicking his feet where they hover above the floor. God, Ben wishes he’d sit still-- he is fully hard now and Henry’s bouncing feels as terribly good as it is painful. 

Henry’s hands are busy, sliding up Ben’s stomach and over his shoulders. Marcus’ hands are equally active, shifting his papers, lifting Ben’s paper coffee cup to his lips. Henry’s face is far too close to his own, so Ben watches Marcus instead. When their eyes meet again, he finds no judgement or challenge. Instead, Marcus looks as young and hopeful as Henry is currently pretending to be. Ben cannot form a single useful thought. He’s so hard there is no blood left for his alcohol-soaked brain. 

“Look at me, Daddy. Kiss me,” Henry demands, small thick fingers grabbing at Ben’s beard and forcing his face back to his. 

“I don’t understand--” Ben finally manages. “Are you still playing a character?” 

Henry rolls his eyes--- 

“ _Shut up, Kissel._ ”

\---and kisses him. 

Ben gasps into his mouth, but he cannot pull away, held in place by Henry’s demanding grip, his thick tongue probing deeply behind his teeth. In his foggy panic, he looks to Marcus, surprised to find him smirking and tipping a healthy amount of rum into Ben’s half-empty cup. 

“Chill out, man,” Marcus hums, using the deep radio voice he knows will comfort his companion. “You know what to do.” 

_Yes… and…_

Ben takes a shuddering breath in through his nose, tightens his hands on Henry’s hips, and kisses back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
